“Only to say that there is a lady from Paris at our farm,” responded the small messenger, “and that she wishes to wait on M. le Marquis when he returns. That is all, Monsieur.”
It seemed, however, to be more than enough for the Comte de Brencourt. He grabbed hold of the small shoulder again, almost throwing the child off his balance.
“What did you say! A lady from Paris asking for the Marquis?”
“Yes,” said the boy, wriggling; and his face turned sulky, just like his elder brother’s.
“Well, go on!” said the Comte, shaking him.
“There is nothing else,” muttered Mercury. “She came yesterday. She is waiting. And when M. le Marquis returns . . . Let me go, Monsieur le Comte—I have to drive the cow home.”
Without another word M. de Brencourt dragged the boy out of the room. The expression on his face was startling. So was the amazement on Lucien’s.
And about two minutes later the young man was craning his swathed head recklessly out of the window. There had been a sudden clatter of hoofs on the cobbles of the yard, but the rider was already gone.
“Well,” thought M. du Boisfossé, “the mysterious lady may have intended to interview M. le Marquis, but I think it is M. le Comte whom she will see first. Here, perhaps, is some explanation of—everything! Oh, why are Roland and Artamène not back!”